Snippets
by morgo7kc
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring anything from the White Collar universe that pops into my head.
1. Ardent

**A/N: This came to me in Study Hall on Wednesday-a couple hours after watching Forging Bonds-and I just couldn't resist. I then realized that everything I have written so far for White Collar has been a one-shot, so why not make a collection? This led to the creation of Snippets, and although it's probably cliché, (no offense to anyone who has done this as well) I will be naming them each with a word beginning with a different letter of the alphabet, so there will probably be twenty-six total. This is unbeta'd, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know. Also, I know Kate visited Neal while he was in prison, but I'm not counting that because it was through a telephone and 2 inches of bullet-proof glass. Now, without further ado, (besides my disclaimer and stuff) enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: Spoilers for The Portrait, Out of the Box and Forging Bonds.**

**Word Count: 478**

**Happy reading!**

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Three times. He had seen Kate three times since he'd left for Copenhagen. All brief, all memorable.

The first time was the day he was arrested. She looked so beautiful, standing in front of him, her deep blue eyes glowing like priceless gems. He thought his heart would explode from relief, and joy. After months of searching, he'd finally found her. They talked, they kissed, apologizing with their movements rather than their words. It felt like everything was coming together again. They were going to be okay. But it was all a trap, something he realized too late. The FBI had used the one person he cared about most, to get to him. Just as quickly as they had come, the Feds left. With Neal. In handcuffs.

The second time was right after the Haustenberg case. He was on the verge of giving up, about to admit that maybe Mozzie was right. Who knows when Kate wrote that note? Or even if _she_ wrote it? Then the phone rang, and his doubt dissolved. From his distant position, he could barely make out who it was, let alone how she was, but at that moment, just knowing she was there was the best gift in the world. Kate was there, and she was safe. That was enough. But his thankfulness didn't last very long. He could tell from her voice that she was scared, and he needed to be with her, up close. He needed to hold her, and tell her everything was going to be alright. So Neal ran. She was gone.

The third time was at the hanger. He saw Kate's tantalizing face in the window. She waved, he waved. It was for real this time. They were running away once and for all, leaving all fears and worries and burdens behind. Not a care in the world. So why did it feel so wrong? He didn't have time to answer himself, because the next thing he knew, the plane was on fire. It was as ardent as the sun, and blinding, like light on mirrors. Heat, despair, grief, pain. Kate was no longer alive, the end. He knew this, but he didn't. Some would consider his desperate, nearly suicidal attempts to run to the flames, despite Peter's protective grasp, as insane. But Neal believes that it was the most sane moment of his life. The only time he was truly thinking only about others, and not himself. Well, thinking about one other person. Kate.

Three times. He wishes it was more, he wishes it was less. Neal has never been exactly sure of what he wanted, and since Kate's death, it has become even harder to make up his mind. Yet there is one thing that is clearer and clearer everyday. Neal is certain.

He wants her back.

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**A/N #2: ****Reviews are like drops of heaven that make me smile my face off and feed my ever thriving ego (jk…maybe).**


	2. Baffling

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A/N: This one is a bit shorter than my first, but I have been wanting to write something like this for a while, and it worked with my title. So, enjoy!

Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

Warning: Spoilers for Need to Know and microscopic spoilers for Prisoner's Dilemma and Burke's Seven.

Word Count: 189

Happy reading!

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It was baffling, really. Mozzie simply could not understand how everyone around him was so ignorant. The Suit…well, Mozzie's still not sure the Suit isn't in on it. He is a Fed, after all. But June? Elizabeth? Even Neal. Sometimes they'll humor him, but he can tell they think his "conspiracy theories" are nuts.

From a young age, Mozzie had thought the exact opposite. Who could possibly believe the moon-landing really happened? Or that Theodore Roosevelt was president? It was insane! And to not realize that Paul McCartney died and was replaced by his doppelganger in 1966, was unfathomable.

Of course, there were one or two that even Mozzie had fallen for, like Timmy Nolan Memorial Park, (Neal had explained the whole story to him after the FBI arrested Jennings) but the quirky man figured he was on to them, no less than 98% of the time.

Unless you want Big Brother watching you and tracking your every movement, be paranoid. That is Mozzie's motto. It is also the reason he doesn't own a microwave. Or a sewing machine. Or a goldfish.

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A/N #2: If you review, I will give you a doughnut. My sister and I made them this morning, and they are very good. *nods head convincingly*


	3. Cold

**A/N: Hello! This was inspired by a not-so-pleasant experience I had today. Trudging through snow in the dark and 0 degree weather is not fun, I don't recommend it. It didn't help that my sibling was whining the whole time, (I actually told her to cowboy up). This is not exactly the same, no one stole our car, luckily, but was enough to give me a writable idea for the letter C. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 491**

**Happy reading!**

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"I don't understand why you don't just call for back-up," Neal grumbled for about the umpteenth time. Peter was getting tired of it. He was already cold and miserable, and didn't need to deal with his consultant complaining every five minutes, on top of that.

"I told you, back-up is for emergencies, not when the suspect steals out car."

"_Your_ car."

"And my phone is dead, anyway."

"Aren't FBI agents supposed to make sure their cell phones are charged at all times? What if I was shot, or something equally awful?" Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. Leave it to Neal to be so melodramatic.

"Then I guess I would have to watch you bleed out, and get a new consultant who doesn't whine so much."

"Wow, you're nice."

"Look, we're almost at that convenience store we passed on the way up here. I can call Diana there. And if you're so smart, why didn't you bring your phone?"

"My future-telling powers aren't working today. I didn't think that our, according to you, 'long shot lead' would lock us in his garage and steal the car. You're lucky I brought my lock-picking tools."

"_I'm _lucky? You're the one who decided not to bring a coat appropriate for January in New York." He paused. "Why did you have your lock picks with you?" Peter asked, somewhat suspicious. He wasn't surprised when Neal avoided answering.

"Oh, would you look at that? We're here." Peter rubbed his hands together rapidly, as he pulled them out of his pockets, stepped forward to the pay phone Neal was motioning to, and put in two quarters. He was grateful the phone was outside, since it was clear the store was closed.

"Diana, put an APB out on Michael Lisi, for grand theft auto and forgery. He's definitely our guy."

_"On it, Boss."_ Both agents hung up.

"Ah, Peter, you kinda forgot to tell her that we're stuck here because he stole _our_ car. We still need a ride."

"I thought you said it was my car." Neal responded with a glare. Peter was going to say another sarcastic remark, somewhere along the lines of his famous 'cowboy up', when he caught sight of a thermometer next to the store's window: 2°F. If he was freezing in a heavy jacket and hat, he couldn't imagine how Neal was, in nothing but one of his usual Devore suits and of course, a fedora. "Fine, fine. I'm calling back." He dug though his pocket for more quarters, but produced only bills. "Do you happen to have any change on you?" he questioned, hopefully. Peter looked up just in time to see his friend's expression change from annoyance, to disbelief.

"You have got to be kidding me."

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**A/N #2: One two, leave a review. Three four, watch for more. Five six...**


	4. Dirty

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A/N: I wasn't sure about posting this, especially since I think there's more to Neal's story about his dad, but I spent about two hours planning and writing it out last night/this morning after watching the episode, so, enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: Major, major spoilers for What Happens in Burma. Seriously, if you haven't seen that episode, do not read this.

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Word Count: 723

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Happy reading!

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Nick took a deep breath. His feet had managed to make a ten minute walk last thirty, and were now stopped completely. In front of his destination.

For years, Nick had suspected, that Logan Cawley was not who his wife made him out to be. She had told her son a bedtime story at four-years-old, about a police hero who went down in a barrage of flying bullets, after successfully deactivating a bomb and saving countless lives. But as Nicholas Cawley grew older, and his mother never again mentioned her late husband, doubt thrived. The young teen decided fifteen was old enough: he had to know for sure.

So on this warm, November afternoon, he'd made his way down to the library, in search of the truth. Nick hesitantly opened the doors and walked to the information counter. Staton's library was small, but kept a copy of nearly every addition of the town's only newspaper.

"Excuse me," Nick spoke. The woman behind the desk looked up and smiled. She seemed about sixty, and her name plate read 'Laura'.

"How can I help you, young man?" Returning the smile, Nick went on with his cover story.

"My name is Nicholas. I'm doing a project for school, and was wondering if you could please show me the town's newspaper records."

"Of course, right over here." Laura stood and lead Nick past several bookcases, stopping beside a set of large filing cabinets. "What year are you looking for, Nicholas?"

"1980. March." The librarian pulled a blue file folder from one of the drawers, and set it on the nearest round table.

"This has all the papers for March that year. Is that all?" Nick nodded. "Well just come and get me if you need anything else, Dear." Laura hurried back over to her desk where a girl was waiting, and Nick stared at the folder, eyeing it like it was going to bite.

_This is it, _he thought. Thursday the sixth wasn't difficult to find, as the documents were in chronological order. The hard part was reading it.

Even when Nick was sure his mom's story was a complete lie, he could take solace in the fact that he didn't know for sure. He would no longer have that luxury.

"Now or never," Nick muttered, barely audible to even himself. No mysteries were solved on the first or second page, but on the third, an article drew his attention.

_Local Police Officer is Killed After Accepting Bribe_

_Logan Cawley, 35, a cop with the SPD for almost ten years was fatally shot yesterday after pulling a gun on two of his fellow police officers. Detectives Shane Klemont and Wyatt Odelle went to Cawley's house to question him about suspected evidence tampering in exchange for bribe money. When confronted, Cawley pulled his weapon on the two detectives. "I've known Cawley for years," explained Klemont. "We'd hoped to deal with the situation peacefully, but when he aimed a gun at my partner, I had no choice but to shoot." Cawley's wife and two-year-old son fortunately weren't home when the incident occurred, and were unharmed. Staton's Police Captain, Todd Eastin, said, "Nobody's happy when a cop gets killed, dirty or not. I just thank God his family wasn't there."…_

Nick stopped reading, his eyes full of tears. A dirty cop. His dad really wasn't the golden protagonist his mother claimed. He was a dirty cop who caused his own death. The moments ago anxious teenager was now a hurricane of emotions, anger taking over everything else. Angry at his father for what he did, his mom for lying about it, himself for prying instead of just choosing to believe what he was told.

Nick tore out of the library full speed, and didn't stop until he was panting, not even bothering to look where he was going until he was there. The bus station. The four o'clock bus was conveniently, already waiting. Not knowing what else to do, Nick got on. He would never again return to Staton, Pennsylvania. He would never again be called Nicholas Cawley.

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**A/N #2: ****I don't have any rhymes or tasty incentives for you to review today, so how 'bout you do it just to make me happy? I think that's a good plan.**


	5. Empty

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A/N: A shorter, more light-hearted story after my last, pretty depressing one. Also, I am working under the assumption that after Burke's Seven, Peter got his mug back, (or received a new one). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

Warning: Microscopic, itty bitty spoiler for In the Red, and a not so tiny, but still very small spoiler for Burke's Seven.

Word Count: 309

Happy reading!

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Empty. His mug was empty-again. Peter really liked his mug, with the official FBI emblem standing out against the white porcelain, especially since it was a gift from his wife. The agent couldn't help but think though, that it would be a much better present if it contained a never-ending supply of steaming hot coffee. Unfortunately, that was not possible.

Therefore, Peter was forced to get up, again, walk down to the kitchen area, again, and replenish his caffeine storage unit for, at least the fifth time in three hours. Much to his dismay, the coffee pot was also, empty.

"I swear, someone puts crack in this stuff. It's more addicting than Girl Scout cookies," Peter mumbled, mostly to himself.

"Can't say I agree with you, Peter. I find June's coffee much more appetizing than the burnt mud the Bureau serves." Neal made fake gagging sounds as his partner glared.

"Well we can't all drink Italian Roast."

"I told you, we should get an espresso machine."

"Tiny cups?" Neal nodded. "Then I would run out even faster than I already do."

"The FBI should at least invest in a faster coffee machine. I put on a new pot like six minutes ago, and," Neal tapped the side of the glass container with his finger, "not a drop."

"Hmm." Peter walked around the counter, examining the brown liquid spurting device from all angles. "Maybe it broke." Neal made no attempt to conceal his groan.

"Already? The Tech guys were just in here yesterday fixing it!"

"Just an idea?" a voice interrupted. Peter and Neal were so preoccupied, they hadn't noticed Diana walk over to the object of their discussion. She was smirking at them, and holding up a white chord. "You could try plugging it in."

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**A/N #2: If you liked it, review, if you hated it, review, if you just wanna say hi, review...**


	6. Façade

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A/N: Hmm, my first noun. As much as I kinda wanted to keep up my unintentional pattern, no other "F" words fit, (I was leafing through a dictionary in Home Ec) and as soon as I saw façade, my muse demanded I write it. Not really sure about this one, it turned out pretty different than I intended, but nonetheless…enjoy!

Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

Warning: Slight spoilers for Vital Signs and Out of the Box.

Word Count: 257

Happy reading!

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Carefully placed, with the perfect balance between reality and fiction, even Peter has trouble getting past Neal's meticulously-crafted façade. Only two times has he ever seen his partner completely open, no barriers or shields concealing his mind, or emotions.

The first can't be counted for much, since he was drugged, barely able to walk by himself. The second was that day at the hanger, Neal too distraught to contain his thoughts.

Either time, Peter could have gotten any information he wanted, from confessions of every crime the young man had ever committed, to the real reason he hates guns, but Peter didn't take advantage.

As eager as he is for the truth about so many things, and as much as he wishes his friend would be one-hundred-percent honest with him for once, Peter wants to do it the right way.

Most people, even those close enough to really understand their relationship, like Elizabeth or Mozzie, will say that Neal and Peter will never, completely, trust each other. Peter doesn't think it's outside the realm of possibility. Neal has had severe trust issues for as long as the agent's known him, probably longer, and Peter has never found it easy to spill his guts either, but they understand one another. They have a certain bond that cannot be broken, not matter how hard anyone tries.

One day, Neal's façade will falter, it'll fade, and he'll drop it all together. Then, Peter will be there to listen.

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**A/N #2: I'm not gonna say 'the more reviews I get the faster I write', because I will probably update tomorrow regardless, but, if you're feeling generous...**


	7. Glow

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A/N: I know I said I was going to update on Saturday, but I wasn't really in a writing mood, then yesterday I was way too busy to even think about updating. My dearest apologies. *bows head in shame* Before I let you read my latest chapter, I would like to thank all the people who have reviewed this fic so far. Mega THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to:

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Rainey13

MaraudingSnitch1314

kenziecaffrey

HuffynDK

brokenclaw

govgal

pinetree

SherlockXHolmes23

Casey

Shoen

NayahReidWhumper xD

thevigilante15

Maira the Panda

hellokitty645

Duffy1

You guys have no idea how awesome you are! If I missed anyone, or spelled any names wrong, please let me know. Now, on to the actual story.

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: Spoilers for Flip of a Coin and a mini spoiler for Forging Bonds.

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Word Count: 331

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Happy reading!

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There was just something about the way Neal looked after a case, the way he smiled when he proved his dominance over their latest art thief. When he showed the new hot-shot counterfeiter who was more clever. Or when he talked the "loyal" subordinate of an embezzler into flipping on her boss. There was a certain…glow.

From the first time he read James Bonds' case file, he was surprised the man hadn't done something more productive with his life. Neal was talented enough to have been a successful, honest artist, and the way he did complex math operations in his head, faster than Archimedes himself, the ex-con could have been the world's next great mathematician. But he wasn't. Neal became a criminal instead. He lied to, manipulated people for a living, and it cost him over four years in Federal prison.

At first, it seemed strange to Peter how much Neal liked working for the other side of the law. It was easy to see that, while his partner did thrive on the adrenaline rush of an exciting, intellectual pursuit, (including the three years Peter was after him), he also got satisfaction out of putting Manhattan's smartest White Collar criminals behind bars.

The Missing Iraqi Artifacts case was the first time the agent really noticed. When they arrested Eames, the grin on Neal's face was more than just gratefulness that Peter could finally go home, (and therefore stop bugging his consultant), or gloating at the fact that he was correct about Mitchell being innocent. It was contentment that justice had prevailed. Something Peter never imagined he would see in the expression of a felon.

As the next investigation closed, and the next, Peter grew used to the childlike enthusiasm Neal demonstrated whenever the FBI won. He could deny it all he wanted, but it was all too obvious to Peter that Neal really did enjoy working for the good guys.

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A/N #2: Prize- Invisible dollar to anyone who reviews!


	8. Home

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A/N: Hey guys! I've got good news: I'm not dead! I probably fooled you though, considering I haven't updated in, what-10 days? And now for my pitiful excuse, writer's block sucks! I finally managed to get an idea around Monday, but then I had a bad case of everything-you-write-you-hate-after-you-write-it syndrome. This is actually the fifth version of this chapter I wrote, the first three I scrapped, and the fourth I decided to make the next chapter instead. On to other matters, I am guessing based on the fact that Neal got out of prison the first time in the summer, and according to Neal's Apartment on White Collar Society, the Music Box Viewing was on July 20, that Peter and Neal have been partners for about a year. If I'm wrong…oh well. Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: If you really know the show front wards and backwards like me, you might recognize some slight references from Pilot and Vital Signs, but I wouldn't call them spoilers.

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Word Count: 350

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Happy reading!

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Neal looked around, smiling as the credits of the movie rolled by. Peter and Elizabeth were asleep on the couch, beside him, and Mozz was passed out on the chair, with his hand rested on Satchmo.

He'd been surprised, to say the least, when Peter invited him and "the little guy" over for dinner and a movie, (he later found out it was El's idea, but still), yet at the same time, not shocked at all. The ex-con hadn't realized until then, just how close he had gotten to the Burkes. Sure there had to have been some transition in their relationship from criminal-Fed, to consultant-agent, to friends, to partners, to even almost family, but Neal couldn't pinpoint it.

Looking at the calendar, Neal remembered the occasion of which Peter and Elizabeth had decided to invite them over: the one year anniversary of Neal and Peter's partnership. A year of ups and downs, fights and apologies, lies and revelations. If you'd looked at their partnership last summer, you would've never guessed that Peter and Neal could've gotten this far. Thinking about it, even Neal can't figure out how they made it work. But they did.

Just one year and the Burkes already felt like family. They _were _family to Neal. He was welcome on their couch, at their breakfast table, to walk their dog, anytime he wanted. When he needed someone to talk to, he went to Peter or Elizabeth, (even if sometimes begrudgingly), and vise versa. Mozzie often teasingly called his friend their surrogate child. Although he was only joking, the term seemed to fit. Peter Burke was the closest thing to a father the con had ever had, and Elizabeth felt a lot more like a mother than his own had been.

His whole life, Neal was a cynic to the phrase 'home is where the heart is'. Maybe because he never had a place to live that felt like one. Until now. Mozzie's various hide-outs were comfortable, June's was great, but the Burkes' was home.

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**A/N #2: Review pretty please? With a cherry on top?**


	9. Insight

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A/N: Nothing to say today, so, enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: None.

Word Count: 440

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Happy reading!

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To say that Caffrey wasn't helpful would be a lie. Like every other FBI agent in the Bureau-higher and lower on the food chain-Reese Hughes was skeptical, very skeptical, when Burke had requested Caffrey be released from prison to consult. He'd laid out the details for the older man, as Hughes was the first person to convince before the decision was handed further up the food chain of command, and the idea _did_ look good on paper.

But Hughes was around when Peter was after Neal. Letting the convict out of jail, tracking anklet or not, seemed insane. If Caffrey could flee the SuperMax, near effortlessly, with only a month's planning, there was no doubt in the director's mind that he could skip out on a flimsy piece of plastic. Although they had the final say, Reese knew that the higher-ups would trust Hughes' experienced judgment. He still has no clue why he said yes, not that he regretted it.

It didn't take long for Neal to prove just how worthy of an asset he was to the White Collar Unit. He still _was_ a felon, a conman, a liar, and even Hughes knew that Peter's consultant loved to tap dance on the line, but anyone who did what Neal did for the FBI was a good man in Hughes' eyes. Caffrey went above and beyond the conditions of his release, risking his freedom, his life, to put away the guilty. Not that Reese trusted the kid, not by a long shot. Hughes trusted that Neal would strive to do the right thing (he _usually_ meant well) and he trusted that with Caffrey's knowledge, his irreplaceable insight into the criminal world, Burke's team would get the job done. He even trusted Peter's trust in Neal, so he kind of trusted the "reformed" conman. Just not completely.

Still, overtime, Caffrey's presence in a conference room briefing felt more natural. Hughes no longer felt the need to check his wallet every time the consultant walked by. And he found even himself smiling when Neal would super glue agents' pens together on a paperwork day, or something equally counter-productive. Not that Reese would admit he found it amusing, of course.

Neal Caffrey is something else. A criminal with morals better than some cops, a romantic who could have any woman he pleased, but gave up so much for one. Loyal friend, creative thinker, mischievous mind, secretive agenda. More words describe him than not. Hughes has made many, many mistakes in his life. Caffrey isn't one of them.

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A/N #2: Have a good weekend everybody! And if you could find time in your busy schedule to review, that'd be awesome :)


	10. Jail

**A/N: I've got no idea where this one came from, I started out with one idea, and ended up with a totally different one. And despite my desperate attempts to refrain from it (personally, I'm a little bored with mentioning her) Kate reminiscing is included. Anyway, on with the story. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: Spoilers for Pilot, Free Fall, Out of the Box and Withdrawal.**

**Word Count: 514**

**Happy reading!**

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Jail was a very, out-of-character time for Neal. For a person who was usually so energetic, social, charming, you could say his personality took a one-eighty.

Besides Kate's visits, he barely talked, not seeing the need to make conversation with prison guards, who, after four years he'd (hopefully) never see again, or inmates that he would no sooner work with than Al Capone. Most were more Keller's style, or Wilkes'. Mozzie had visited once (amazing both himself, and Neal), but only to ensure his friend hadn't yet been replaced by a governmental clone while the real Neal Caffrey was being dissected in the CIA's top secret laboratory. The only other person Neal said more words to than absolutely necessary during those 1,371 days was Peter Burke. The agent stopped by a few times in the first year, interrogating Neal about all the crimes the FBI hadn't had enough evidence to even bring to trial. Eventually, Burke accepted that the con wasn't going to confess to anything, and gave up.

It wasn't exactly that he was purposely distancing himself, more like instinct. Neal had been hurt enough times before he even reached adulthood, he began to subconsciously not let anyone close.

Kate was the first person in over ten years that he'd wanted to tell all his secrets to. The bars on the walls around him were proof of just how well that turned out. The more Neal isolated himself in his own little prison world, the more dependant he became on just seeing Kate's face every week, hearing her voice, in order to keep sane.

By the time 45 months had passed, with Kate saying "Adios," escape was the only option. He needed to get out.

The next three months or-so, after Peter had yet again captured the elusive con artist (not that it was too difficult the second time), Neal was a lot more like himself. Seeing the outside world again, even if only for a few hours, was enough to put him back in synch. Still, being released to work for his former nemesis (and find Kate) was a relief.

During the Le Joyau Précieux Diamond Heist case, Neal was far too concerned with proving his own innocence and lack of Tulane's to absorb that he was back in prison. Then he was out in less than a week's time, no need to process.

But those four long months after the plane explosion, it all came back. The repetitive, brainless schedule; the constant dreary mood that plagued the federal walls. It didn't help either that his girlfriend had just died, after he almost destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him: Peter's friendship.

That realization was the turning point in his decision to re-accept the work-release Peter offered. Kate was gone, there was no future to have with her. But Neal could still continue his new life. His life as June's tenant, Elizabeth's friend, Diana and Jones' colleague, and most importantly, Peter's partner.

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A/N #2: Hope you all get a chance to watch the new episode tonight! I've been stressing about it all day-well really the past two weeks, after watching the promo on the eighth, but that's beyond the point. If you can, leave me a review so I know I didn't butcher this too badly! ;)


	11. Keller

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A/N: Hey everybody! What did you think of the AMAZING episode on Tuesday? I think it's safe to say that I have a new favorite. It was very convenient that the Keller-related episode coincided with my need for a K chapter, considering I wanted so badly to write a tag after watching. Trying something a little different for me, writing from Keller's POV, so I apologize if he's a little OOC. I tried my best to write him with the same evil vibe as on the show, but I'm undecided on how well I did. I might try turning this into a multi-chapter, depending on what you think and where the show's story-line takes us, so let me know! Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: Major spoilers for Payback, it _is_ an episode tag after all.

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Word Count: 674

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Happy reading!

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Matthew Keller smiled at the frustration in Caffrey's voice, dropping the burner phone in the trash can as he walked by. He crossed the street and entered the restaurant, contemplating just how much he should mess with Neal before performing the final step. Keller supposed he could take a short break, let his opponent get settled back into his Fed routine before crushing his whole world once again.

The restaurant, a small Italian café, was quiet and un-crowded, the perfect environment for Keller to plan out his next move. Always a chess player, he had thought out several steps after this day. But while he had taken into account the possibility of Burke surviving the day's events unharmed, Matthew hadn't put as much consideration into it as if the agent had wound up shot or dead. His plans required a few altercations.

"My I help you, sir?" the waitress broke through Keller's silent pondering. He'd subconsciously chosen a table at the far end of the café; purposely away from the restaurant's other patrons. The waitress was young, cute, and as much as Matthew would enjoy getting a piece before he had to go underground, (even he wasn't cocky enough to walk openly throughout the city when the FBI was sure to have his picture posted on the front page of every newspaper by tomorrow's morning addition), Keller needed to focus.

"Just a water for now."

"Right away." The waitress-whose name Keller read as "Megan" off of her tag-scurried away to continue her work. Keller stared out the window beside him and attempted to drone out the world. He always did his best thinking alone and uninterrupted, but there was no time for that now. Matthew had a meeting at the café in ten minutes. To discuss, as the note had put it, "a situation involving a certain snitch and his Fed friend."

"Mind if I sit here?" Keller looked up to see a tall man, older than himself, with dark hair and an expensive-looking suit, pulling out the chair opposite him and gesturing to the seat.

"You must be Daniel Crevnt. You're early." The other man sat down.

"I like to be punctual." There was something about the way Daniel spoke, that just seemed to say "trust me", thought Matthew knew better. He smiled sarcastically and sipped the ice water that Megan had just brought.

"Mr. Crevnt," Keller drawled, "may I ask why you contacted me, so we can get on with this?" Not that he didn't why Crevnt wanted to talk to him, or the man's real identity.

"Neal Caffrey."

"What about him?"

"Keller, why don't we skip the act?" Daniel leaned closer to the newly-escaped convict and lowered his tone to a mere whisper. "I think you know exactly why I'm here." Keller nodded ever so slightly, more saying that he understood Crevnt's accusations, rather than admitting to them.

"What do you want from me?"

"You know my history with Caffrey and I know yours. We both have a certain-shall we say?- vendetta against him. I believe it may be mutually beneficial if we work together, to finish him." Crevnt looked confident that the impromptu partnership of two completely different people could do just that. Matthew wasn't so sure. Still, he could use Daniel Crevnt. Get him to do some of the heavy lifting, and then completely screw him over. The idea was tempting. Keller had never been very good at temptation.

"Sure." He got up from the table and outreached his right hand to shake that of his new "partner". Crevnt instead handed him a black cell phone.

"Untraceable. I'll call you soon to work out details. If you need anything before then, speed dial two." With that, Daniel Crevnt was gone. Matthew Keller, satisfied with his expression of uncertainty about joining up with the near stranger, grinned.

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**A/N #2: God it's so weird referring to Keller as Matthew, the name doesn't seem to fit. I get bored though if I just use a character's last name the whole time. Let's see if any of you smart people know who Daniel Crevnt is! I bet you can guess, but can you figure out how I came up with his name? Fun fact I realized while doing research for this chapter: Bottlenecked, Keller's original appearance, premiered February 23, 2010. Payback, his second appearance premiered February 22, 2011. Coincidence? I think not. Well folks, that's all I wanted to say. I usually try to keep these bottom A/N's short so-wait, what am I forgetting? Oh yeah. _Those who review shall find themselves with good luck in the upcoming weeks._ I'd listen to the fortune cookie if I were you, people.**


	12. Laundry

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A/N: Got this idea from an awesome White Collar interview on YouTube. Link's at the bottom if you're interested. Also, I borrowed the name White Shadow from a game on USA Network. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.******

Warning: One tiny swear word. All apologies.

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Word Count: 827

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Happy reading!

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"Do we really have to do this?"

"Cowboy up. This is the only thing Elizabeth asked me to do today and I am not going to forget, like the dry cleaning."

"You _did _forget."

"_Temporarily._" Peter checked his watch, 1:09. "And we still have almost two hours left until she gest home. El's having potential clients over for dinner tonight so she's leaving work early, at three."

"And I have to help because…" Peter handed Neal a detergent bottle and rolled his eyes. Neal had come over just before eleven, so they could work more on their latest case. The young forger they were after was cocky, inexperienced and arrogant, (Peter hadn't been able to help implying how he was similar to a certain consultant I his early crime days) yet he was still running circles around the Manhattan White Collar Unit's best team and, frankly, it was starting to piss Peter off. Determined to at the very least put a name to the White Shadow, the agent had decided to give up the majority of his Saturday to read nearly-memorized case files and look over perfectly useless evidence, somehow convincing his partner to join him. Much to Neal's annoyance though, (Peter claimed it was karma for all the times Neal drove him crazy), the one chore his wife had requested be done, had slipped Peter's mind.

"Oh, sorry. It hadn't occurred that you most likely haven't ever done your own laundry. It wouldn't surprise me if you had your underwear dry-cleaned."

"You underestimate me, Peter. I'll have you know I am quite skilled in the art of laundry." As if to prove his point, Neal flipped the cap of the detergent over in his hand, poured the soap, and dumped it into the Burkes' washing machine in one swift motion. Peter altered the settings and pressed start, then turned around to open the dryer door.

"The art of laundry? Washing clothes is an art now?

"Absolutely." He sounded completely serious. Peter laughed.

"Of course you would say that. Here, fold these."

Neal picked up the basket, but before he could start, they heard the front door close.

"Honey, I'm back." Peter looked panicked.

"I thought Elizabeth told you she wouldn't be home until three," Neal said skeptically.

"She _did_," Peter insisted. He checked his watch again. Still only 1:09-uh oh. "I think my watch stopped." Neal glanced at the old analog clock on the shelf above the dryer, holding the Tide and dryer sheets: 3:22.

"Well hurry up and get downstairs! Otherwise she's going to come up here and you'll be in big trouble. Again." Peter wanted to glare at his consultant, but he had to admit that Neal was right. With a stern look that spoke volumes, Peter dashed down the steps, slowing down halfway so Elizabeth couldn't tell he was running.

"Hey, Hon," Peter managed, nervously walking into their kitchen.

"Oh hey! Did Neal stop by?" She pointed to the pile of files sprawled out on the coffee table in the living room. Well him and Neal _had _worked on the case for a little while…

"Yeah Neal came by. We worked on the case, yup." Not really a lie but-damn! He was starting to think like Neal! Elizabeth eyed him suspiciously, then laughed.

"So you didn't find anything new?" Peter shook his head. "Don't worry, you'll get there. If anyone can catch the White Shadow, its you two." She opened the refrigerator and started taking out ingredients for dinner. "Remember, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell are going to be here at 5 o' clock." Peter started to slink back towards the staircase, anxious to see what Neal was up to, but El stopped him. "Honey, can you chop these carrots up for me please?" he had no choice but to comply.

Elizabeth kept him busy with various tasks in the kitchen, and before Peter knew it, El's quests were there. He had no further opportunities to head back upstairs and eventually forgot about Neal.

It wasn't until the couple was clearing the dishes after the Caldwells had left (they were definitely using Burke Premiere Events), and Elizabeth asked him

"By the way, you finished the laundry right?" that he did remember.

"Ah, yeah. 'Course. I'll be right back." peter was back in the laundry room in record time. He found it empty, both plastic baskets filled with neatly-folded clothes, a yellow paper lily atop one of them. Peter unfolded said lily, and smiled at the message:

_Peter, _

_I figured you'd be busy. The laundry's done, I let myself out._

_XOXO, Neal_

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A/N #2: Here is promised link, just take out the spaces. Don't forget to leave me some love in the review box!

Http : / www . Youtube . Com / watch?v= Dy2oyGpoVLE


	13. Moving On

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A/N: Humongous thank you to flaming-crystal-star for giving me the idea for this chapter! It was mega fun to write. Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

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Warning: Major spoilers for Payback.

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Word Count: 863

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Happy reading!

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He'd said it to Mozzie: he was passed Kate, he'd moved on. Neither man believed his insistent words, but Neal tried to. He needed to believe them, because he couldn't deal with those feelings. Not right then, while he was dealing with Keller. Kate + Keller = trouble. Every time.

It was just Neal's luck that only hours later that topic was forced up again. Even after her death, Keller was still using Kate against Neal. Only now Peter's life was at stake. Matthew Keller had gone too far. Gone after his partner, his best friend. And there was only one way to get him back.

Neal did his best to detach himself from the ring, tried to think of its numerical value, its beauty, its history. Anything to make it less personal. But they were desperate, futile attempts. Everything about the ring was personal. Everything about it was related to Kate.

Walking through the all-to-familiar park, Neal flashed back to a happier, freer, less stressful time. A time before the Feds were even close, and the young couple had all the time in the world.

_A years-younger Neal and a still, very-much-alive Kate were walking into the park, holding hands. The sun was shining; the future was bright; everything was good. Perfect, even. At nearly the exact same time, Kate and Neal both halted, gazing adoringly as children played on a barely distant playground, running, shouting, laughing._

"_Neal, do you ever want to settle down, have a life? Kids, house, an actual, honest job?" She looked to him for an answer, but he was still too mesmerized by the beautiful sight ahead, so Kate went on. "We can't do this forever, you know. It's great for now, but what about in five years? Ten? It has to end sometime."_

"_I know." Neal's response was almost inaudible. After another moment's consideration, he seemed to come to a conclusion. His seconds ago wishful, almost longing demeanor changed instantly to excitement. "Kate, forget five or ten years. We've collected enough resources. We can stop now. Have kids and a house, everything. A __**real**__ life." The word felt good on his tongue, natural, achievable. The comfortable silence that followed his outburst was all the agreement Neal needed. But then the next day Alex called; she had a location on the music box, and it was all downhill from there. _

Neal blinked, realizing he'd been walking and talking with Mozzie practically on autopilot. He was looking at the violinist statue, the statue with Kate's ring, the key to their "real life", in the very park they'd first talked about a real future. It was now or never. An old memory or a promising tomorrow. The last piece of his old life or the main piece of his new. Kate or Peter. _Kate's gone. The rest of us are still here. _Alex's words echoed inside his head like a verbal epiphany. Amazed at how he could've ever considered any other option, Neal took the ring. Peter.

By the time it was all said and done, Neal had completely forgotten about the precious piece of jewelry. His full attention had been focused on his one priority: rescuing his partner. Now Peter was standing right in front of him, unharmed, smiling even, and holding out the ring.

When Neal gave it to Lang, he whole-heartedly believed he would never see the ring again. He was fine with that, because it was Peter. Anything was worth it to save Peter. Only now Neal _was _seeing it again, in his friend's hands, giving it to him. Except, he didn't want it.

Emotions had been a big part of Neal's day, good and bad ones. He was relaxed in the morning to be coming into the office and working on a new case, annoyed when he found out their case was Keller, and bitter when he saw the man, even in an orange jumpsuit. He was proud when him and Peter figured out Keller's plan, excited when they went to interview Jason Lang and finally be done dealing with his arch rival, and Neal was angry when they took Peter. Back at the Bureau he was frustrated, at the park he was wistful, and throughout the entire day, he was worried.

But when Neal handed over the ring as Peter's ransom, he was relieved. It may have taken the kidnapping of his best friend, and one of the worst days of his life, but he was finally, really moving on. He finally _could _move on. And he was relieved. So he told Peter to contact the Scotland Royal Museum, and that was the end of that.

Days later, after the chaos temporarily subsided, Peter would ask about the ring, and Neal would tell him. Not everything-he'll always be the same unforthcoming Neal-but enough. Enough so that although neither friend ever says it in words, they both know. Neal is moving on.

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A/N #2: Does anyone know if the park where Neal and Kate met in Forging Bonds (I didn't use that moment as a flashback, just assumed they went there often) and where Neal got the ring in Payback, really exists? I tried Googling it with the statue but nothing came up.


	14. Nothing

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A/N: Hey people! I was planning on writing this and updating on Saturday, but the fact that everyone in my family has been sick except for me finally caught up. Fever+Headache+Coughing=no mood to do anything but sleep. My sister claims that White Collar was on TV and I muted it, but I was too out of it to notice. I did manage to stay awake long enough to read some fanfics, which I think were better medicine than the Advil and Halls combined. Anyway, here's your chapter. I wanted to write more on Peter and Neal's relationship, but kinda lost my muse at the end, so if it's not too great, blame my comeplete lack of energy. Regardless, enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

Warning: Spoilers for the Pilot if you squint, but come on. Who hasn't seen the Pilot?

Word Count: 636

Happy reading!

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They had nothing to say to each other.

Peter couldn't believe what Neal had almost given up, what he'd almost lost, for him. What he'd offered without a second thought. To say Peter was touched would be too much of an understatement. Astonished, honored, fit better.

Neal couldn't believe that Peter was so shocked. If the day were to start all over again, he wouldn't alter his actions in any way. He did what he had to do, and the standoff resulted in one less causality than it would have if Neal hadn't committed one of the stupidest, albeit most selfless acts of his life.

Peter and Neal's partnership was something no outsider could understand. Even Peter could hardly comprehend how far they'd come. From day one of Neal's work release, to yesterday, and every day in between, they grew closer. Small steps at first, then larger transitions, development of trust. Some days they got farther than others, and a few were even a step backward, but it all mattered. Every gesture, look, conversation, sarcastic remark, every "cowboy up" and "allegedly", all wrapped up in a box of the universe labeled "work-in-progress". To compare Peter and Neal's relationship around the time of the Dutchman case, to the one that made Neal jump in front of a bullet meant for his partner, would be like putting a seed next to a full-grown redwood tree. Peter made a mental notation to thank his wife when he got home; if it hadn't been for Elizabeth, he would have never accepted the deal with now one of the most important people in his life.

There was a street saying that Neal used to follow more than anyone, "trust a cop and it's the second to last thing you'll ever do, if the last is jail", until he paired up with Peter Burke. Even on their first case, Neal could see that working with a Fed might not become the worst thing in the world. Before long, he found himself even enjoying it, and that had everything to do with Peter. There was a certain way the agent carried himself and his life that no one could help but admire. He was the good man Neal couldn't be, and trusting him came easily to the ex-con. Peter did the right thing-period. The right thing didn't always fall within the careful restrictions and procedures of the FBI, but Peter played it as close to the line as he could, earning respect and loyalty from his team and every agent who ever met him. Only a handful of people had Neal ever trusted enough in his life to give away personal information, and of that handful, only one would Neal tell it to all over again. The partnership of a conman and an FBI agent is a valuable one, more so than any priceless gem, statue or painting Neal had ever stolen. When the gun of a suspect went off, aimed at the chest of Neal's best friend, he didn't once consider not jumping in front.

One stressful ambulance ride, two surgeries, three files of paperwork, and almost 24 hours later, Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey were both in a hospital room, Neal in the bed, finally conscious, and Peter beside him in a chair. The doctors had hours ago explained that Neal would, miraculously, make a full recovery, much to Peter's relief. After constant persuading, the agent had been allowed five minutes to visit Neal, despite it being well past visiting hours, and the nurses saying that the patient just needed to rest. Four of those minutes were up.

They had nothing to say to each other, because one look said it all. There was no need for words.

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A/N #2: Soooo, what'd ya think? I'd like to point out I completely made up that 'street saying' so don't blame me if it doesn't exist. Don't miss the finale tomorrow night! I might update again beforehand, but no promises. REVIEW!


	15. Obsession

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A/N: I scrawled this out a while ago, and found it again looking through my notebook. I figured I should add to it and post it up, so here you go. Want to know if you are truly obsessed with White Collar? Read on. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

Warning: Consistent spoilers throughout the entire series. There's really too many to list, so if you haven't seen all episodes up to Power Play, beware.

Word Count: 800

Happy reading!

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1) You refer to the actors/actresses by their first/nick names.

2) You know Neal's IQ even though they've never mentioned it on the show.

3) Someone who has watched every episode four times doesn't impress you.

4) You think you know whether or not Kate really loved Neal, and have whole argument prepared to support your point.

5) If you say "Jeff" your friends know exactly who you're talking about.

6) You watch spoilers religiously.

7) You can quote full scenes of episodes.

8) You've Googled the Peacemaker, Gerald Blanchard, the Franklin Bottle, Eliot Ness, Pai Gow, the Emperor's Five Jade Elephants or the Cuban Missile Crisis.

9) If you owned a fedora, your life would be complete.

10) Your safe word is really two words.

11) You have noticed that both season premieres show Neal in jail, both episode sixes involve gambling, and both sevens include a main character running from the law.

12) You follow Jeff Eastin on Twitter, and "liked" the White Collar Facebook page.

13) You associate Tuesdays with good things.

14) You're desperately anticipating your next family vacation because you want to see if Diana's hotel painting thing is true.

15) You have a mature appreciation for art that didn't exist before October 2009.

16) You've added criminal, FBI agent, or White Collar Bounty Hunter to your list of possible career choices.

17) You write or read (obviously) fanfiction.

18) Mario reminds you of Peter.

19) There are White Collar pictures on your computer, iPod and/or cell phone.

20) You have recommended/made watch White Collar to 1+ of your friends and family.

21) You want to try one of Neal's soups.

22) You write down or try to remember Mozzie's quotes.

23) You can recite all the episodes (name, season and episode number) in order, without missing a beat, as well as being able to explain the synopsis of each.

24) Every time Fowler, Larsson or Adler appears on the screen you give them the evil eye.

25) You play chess only because Mozzie and Neal do.

26) You're a member of White Collar Society, and have played every available mission of 36 Hours.

27) New York City is now your dream place to visit, or live.

28) You've picked up on a few foreign words like perdue, pis aller and faber est suae quisque fortunae.

29) Anything un-White-Collar-related happening between 10pm and 11pm on Tuesdays does not interest you.

30) The season one DVD (if you own it) is never in its case because you watch it so much.

31) After seeing how awesome Tim is on a horse, you considered getting riding lessons.

32) You know all the actors and actresses' birthdays (Jeff's was yesterday by the way).

33) You cried when Mozzie got shot in Point Blank.

34) Every time you are reminded that White Collar is only a TV show and in fact not real, you get upset.

35) You find yourself adopting habits, phrases, opinions, conspiracies and expressions used by the characters.

36) The show has inspired you to dress more stylish (or wish to).

37) You've named/plan to name a pet Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Satchmo, etc.

38) You thought about buying a pair like Peter's super-cool flash-drive cufflinks from Company Man, even though you'd never wear them.

39) You Internet stalk the cast.

40) You pick up on every little goof and mistake in the episodes, like the misspelling of "Caffrery" in the syllabus during Copycat Caffrey.

41) You listen to all of Jeff Eastin's episode commentaries.

42) You can name every single bad guy, and their aliases.

43) When Neal said "You're the only person in my life I trust." to Peter, it was the best moment of your life.

44) You've watched another TV show or move just because one of White Collar's cast members played in it.

45) You've been with the show long enough to remember when it aired at 10pm on Friday nights.

46) You have a whole YouTube play list completely dedicated to White Collar, with fanvids, interviews, promos, and anything else you can find.

47) Your priorities are as follows: White Collar, fanfiction, rest of life.

48) You have no idea what you did with your life before you found White Collar.

49) You want to read Snap of the Twig.

50) You have a very difficult time dealing with your withdrawal symptoms during the brutal, long, half-season breaks, and have no idea how you will survive after tonight.

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A/N #2: If you think of any I didn't, feel free to leave them in a review. Or if you just wanna tell me how obsessed you are, leave a review. If you absolutely hated this, well, REVIEW! :)


	16. Perspective

**A/N: I'm a horrible updater, I'm so sorry I kept you guys waiting this long! I have excuses, but none of them are very good so I will let you move on to the story. ****Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.

**Warning: Spoiler for Payback, based of Neal's conversation with Diana before meeting Mozzie in the park.**

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Word Count: 1,239

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The hallway was silent, Neal observed approvingly. _Good,_ he thought. _He hadn't triggered the alarm. _While Neal could work nearly as well rushed and under extreme pressure, he preferred otherwise. He scanned the room, taking inventory of anything he could grab on the way out…nothing of interest.

Neal checked his watch: eight minutes left until the third floor guard checked this exhibit. Time to get moving. He pulled lock picks out of his pocket and got to work on the door to the back room-open in twelve seconds flat, maybe less. Neal disappeared through the door, soundlessly closing it behind himself. Inside the small office area he wasted no time locating and getting through the next door. The painting he was after was valuable enough to warrant sensors at the main display entrance, but evidently not the "Employees Only" one. If they wanted to gamble that much with a million dollar piece of artwork, the museum could at least invest in more than ten dollar locks. They were practically begging to be robbed.

Neal studied the portrait carefully, examining the smooth brushstrokes, the genius blending of vibrant colors. It really was beautiful work, Claude Monet was Neal's favorite artist. Or one of them at least. Van Gough was great too.

The frame had two blinking-green sensors, just barely out of sight of an average art observer. Neal was certainly not average, or an observer.

The next part had to be done quickly: Neal pulled a small Swiss Army knife from his pocket and carefully sliced through the outer edge of the canvas, keeping the blade away from the actual picture. Whoever had matted _Water Lilies _had let a good inch and a half show, so this wasn't difficult to do. Next, he removed the painting from its mahogany wood frame, and rolled it up, watchful of creases. He put the canvas in a thin tube, slinking away from the now-empty frame, and waiting in the darkness. _Sixty-second rule._ Neal counted, heard no shrilling sirens or running footsteps, and made his way back to the front of The Museum of Modern Art.

Camden was still pleasantly talking to the security guard in charge, the old man having no clue what had just occurred right under his nose. Neal winked at Camden, giving a curt nod, and veering right into a nearby alcove. Camden grinned and bid farewell to the guard, who, having been facing away from Neal, was unaware of the gestures as well.

Everything was going according to plan; Camden distracted the night guard with some "foreign curator wanting to consult with the MoMA about ideas for his own exhibits" cover, (conveniently "dropping" a phony passport open from his coat, with enough stamps to make the staff take him seriously), while Keller and Neal slipped in through the entrance the guard forgot to re-lock. It wasn't too late—less than an hour since the museum had closed—so the story was believable. Neal then waited for Keller to take care of the security cameras, and went for the prize. It was the third job the trio had pulled together—the first two being successful—and Neal was starting to think Mozzie was wrong about working with Matthew Keller being a bad idea.

Neal looked up to see that he was in his favorite exhibit, and looking at his watch again, found he was three minutes ahead of schedule. Maybe he could—Neal's cell phone vibrated, the primary means of communication during their thefts. It was a text from Keller:

_Had 2 take the block off, cams up in 90 secs. Get out of there._

Neal ran. Keller refused to use text speak on any other occasion, claiming it made messages look like they were written by teenage girls, so if he was now, it was really urgent. Realizing this Neal picked up his pace, full speed now and very grateful his shoes didn't squeak on tiled floor. Mentally going over the museum layout in his head, the con remembered an eight by eight foot window coming up, a good thing since he'd stupidly decided to sprint AWAY from the closest exit.

Neal came up to the window, managed the lock in record timing, even for him, and scrambled out, thankful he was only on the first story. As he closed the opening, he could see the green light of a nearby security camera flick back on.

"Close one," he breathed. Way too close.

Camden and Keller were already at the meeting spot-approximately one hundred yards from where Neal had escaped-when he walked up.

"You get it?" Typical Keller, straight to the point. No 'glad you didn't get caught' or "Sorry I gave you such an abrupt warning'. Nope, only concerned about the take. If it weren't for the fact that Matthew Keller was very good at what he did, Neal would never consider pulling anything with him.

"Yeah." Neal lifted up the arm containing the tube, miracle he managed to hold onto it. "Right here, what happened with the cams?" Keller shrugged nonchalantly, as if the three of them just hadn't nearly been arrested. Caught on security tape, and it was only a matter of time before the cops figured out who stole the priceless object missing.

"Footage supervisor came back early, had to cover my tracks. I told him I was a tech called in to fix them after closing, so the feed had to come back up." He turned. "Let's go." Camden, who'd been silent for the whole exchange, was now patting his jacket pockets, frantically, clearly worried even in dim light. "What?" Keller questioned, visibly annoyed.

"I think my passport fell out of my jacket have to go back. That alias has too many connections for the cops to burn it." Neal rolled his eyes, looking up at the starless night. Camden was a good guy, as professional thieves come, but sometimes-a loud gunshot broke Neal's thoughts, making him jump. Camden collapsed. Keller put something in his jeans.

"What did you do!" Neal half-shouted, even though he could obviously tell. Keller didn't acknowledge the question, instead going through Camden's pockets as the man had been doing himself seconds ago. Neal watched shocked as blood started dripping from the hole in his friend's forehead. There was no saving him. Keller found the passport in Camden's back pocket, transferring it to his, and stared to leave. Neal caught up.

"Why did you shoot him? You could've given him a chance, he had it!"

"Can't leave loose ends, Caffrey." He grabbed the painting, said "You'll get your cut," and disappeared. Neal didn't move, anchored to the ground.

That was his wake up call, he never worked with Keller again. Neal figured out the hard way that night was Mozzie had tried to tell him. Neal and Keller had a different…perspective. Keller as he would say, did what needed to be done. Neal had standards: nobody got hurt, period. It was one thing to steal a painting, but it was far different to kill over it. There was a line. A line Neal swore he would never cross.

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**A/N #2: The review button is lonely!**


	17. Quiz

**A/N: I know this is late, I said I was going to update on Tuesday, but my History project got in the way. This started off as a very vague idea, and became this really long chapter when I finally sat myself down and forced the procrastination to stop. I think my mind locked on to the fact I've been reading lots of "Neal childhood" fics lately, and went from there. Let me know what you think cause' I honestly have no idea how this came out. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: Slight mentions of child abuse, very slight. Related to my Chapter 4, Dirty.**

**Word Count: 1,345**

**Happy reading!**

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"Hey, Nick, I need your help." Nicholas looked up from his book-The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes-and at James. They'd been best friends since third grade, when James' family moved to Staton, and spent nearly every waking moment together. Nick knew him well enough to recognize that expression.

"Yeah?" Nick asked, although he already knew what James was going to say. The two eighth graders-both very bright for their age, Nicholas being just a bit smarter-were in their last two minutes of Language Arts. Next period was algebra, James' only weak subject, and, according to Mr. Herman's first and second period students, there was a pop quiz.

"Next period, sit next to me," he responded with a pleading look. Nick sighed, but nodded. He'd never actually been to James' house-James always insisted Nicholas' was better, and when questioned further he would redirect-but from what his friend had told him, James' parents were strict. "A low grade on _anything _would not bode well," he'd said once. Nick was thinking somewhere along the lines of two week's grounding, James never specified the consequences. Still, how bad could they be?

Nick, not always the best behaved kid, had been though every punishment in the book: early to bed, revoke of allowance, extra chores, etc. And he didn't exactly feel right about letting James cheat of his paper…but James was his friend, his best friend. His only _real _friend, the kind that would pretend to have forgotten their homework only because you did, or laugh at a joke solely because you made it. Nicholas couldn't just hang him out to dry. There was an unspoken code of loyalty between friends. But was giving him the answers really the right way to help James?

Maybe-the bell rang. Three grades of students, Nicholas and James included, poured from their classrooms, onto fourth period.

"Pass the quizzes back, one per student; name on your paper, no name means no points; eyes on your own paper and keep your papers covered." Mr. Herman spat out his typical before-test spiel, words rushed, and blurring together like punctuation didn't exist, and looking pointedly at a couple of troublemakers who'd not followed those directions in the past. His stare was enough to make the principal avert his eyes, and said students promptly made themselves appear model citizens. "And remember, absolutely **no **talking. You may begin." Of course, Mr. Herman's cardinal rule: talking on a test (or any graded assignment) and your score goes in the garbage. Nick couldn't recall a kid yet who had broken that rule, ever.

"Nicholas, hey Nick." Yet, here was James breaking it now, sitting right beside him in the desk farthest from the teacher, his whisper barely inaudible to the man. Nicholas saw Brittney Nicole, two desks over, poke her head up, glance at the boys, and return to her quiz. She was looking particularly pretty today, Nick noticed. She'd rejected him back in elementary school but perhaps he could try again…

"Nick!" Nicholas gave James one of his famous 'calm down, I'm listening' glares. "Move your arm, I can't see." He did, and glanced down at his paper, surprised to see three questions already done, his brain working on autopilot. Well, math _was_ his best subject, and having a photographic memory came in handy.

Alright, number four: _A loan of $5,000 at 13% simple interest is to be repaid in 3 years. What is the total to be repaid? _He did a quick calculation in his head-showing work only because it was required to get credit, wrote down _$6,950. _Too easy. The next six problems went by smoothly until James once again broke his train of thought.

"Is that a seven or a nine in problem four?"

"Nine," Nicholas mumbled back, a little annoyed. His handwriting was perfectly legible.

"Huh?"

"Nine!" Oops. That was loud. Mr. Herman looked up.

"Cawley, Haldan, bring me your papers please." They complied. A couple kids smirked, _busted_. "See me after class." Next was lunch, for all eighth graders, meaning Mr. Herman couple as long as he wanted.

Which turned out to be not very long.

"Guess teachers want a break from us too at lunchtime, huh?" Nicholas laughed, not the least bit angry with his friend (it was his choice to let him cheat), himself and James walking at a snail's pace down to the cafeteria, being in no hurry to eat the lunchroom food. The algebra teacher had simply handed each a detention slip, and informed them they were receiving zeroes. Out of twenty points. Could be worse, yet James still looked like he'd seen a ghost. Or maybe like attacked by a ghost. "Hey, it's only a one-day detention, and minus twenty points. No big deal." James hesitated, as if searching for words. He finally settled on,

"Yeah," and ran ahead to the cafeteria doors.

James wasn't at school the next day, or Wednesday, or Thursday. When he didn't up to 7AM detention on Friday (Learwood's detentions were served Friday mornings in the assigning teacher's classroom with them) Nick was a mixture of curious and confused. No illness short of hospital-worthy kept a Staton eighth grader our of school for four days. Learwood was very big on attendance, and if his parents were school-strict as he said they were, where was James?

Nicholas examined his analog wristwatch distastefully-he hated wearing watches, only did because his mother insisted every middle schooler needed to-the hands said 7:40, detention over in five minutes.

"Mr. Herman?" The teacher shot Nick an icy scowl. No talking during detention either, right. "Do you know where James is? He hasn't been at school since Monday." The scowl softened into…pity?

"You and James w-are good friends?"

"Yeah, the best." He didn't see where Mr. Herman was going with this. Sighing,

"Do you know anything about James' home life?"

"Of course." He paused. "Well, actually, no. Not really. We always do stuff at my house."

"James lived with his father, who liked to hurt James, apparently for years now." _What was he talking about?_

"Lived, like, past tense?" Nick's voice cracked, the word fading out. Mr. Herman looked at the boy sympathetically, for one second just another person and not a teacher.

"I'm sorry, Nicholas. Mr. Haldan beat his son up after school on Monday,"-_the haunted look in James' eyes from that detention slip_-"more severe than ever before evidently,"-_before? What about that black eye two weeks ago when his friend claimed to have walked into a door_-"and he didn't make it. James died in ICU last night, the principal's going to tell the eighth graders today. I'm really sorry." Nicholas didn't know what to say. _It couldn't be true!_

"Nico-"

"You're lying. I don't believe you!" The wall clock read 7:45. Nicholas walked out of room 402, heading towards first period science, wishing to feel better. That was impossible, though., because he knew Mr. Herman was telling the truth, it all made sense! All the bruises and scratches that James would pass off as his own clumsiness, why he jumped two feet every time an adult raised their voice and why he always needed straight-A's. Most importantly, it explained why James hadn't been in school for four days after getting his first formal school penalty. One question kept nagging at him.

"Nick!" Nicholas turned around in the still-empty hallway, the building not open to students for another five minutes, and saw the teacher that had just turned his world upside down. "Are you okay?" Stupid question. Nicked asked his, longing, begging for an answer.

"How could I not know?"

* * *

**A/N #2: Haldan is James' last name, in case you were confused. In my mind Neal picked that alias to honor his friend. Kind of bitter, abrupt ending there, not usually my forte. It felt right to end it there though. Does Neal seem like a Sherlock Holmes person to you? I figured since he wanted to be a cop (until he found out who his dad really was) and likes solving mysteries, he would've read them as a kid. Oh, I don't own Sherlock Holmes either. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does, and he's dead, so...yeah. Also I borrowed The name Mr. Herman, the room number, and even the quiz problem from my teacher. Just the name, not the personality, my math teacher isn't that mean. I stole the school name too. That about covers it, so now there's a button beneath this that wants your attention. *hint hint***


	18. Rules

**A/N: I started this along time ago, finishing the last part yesterday, so I figured I would post it. I wrote it taking place right after Peter leaves Neal's apartment in Out of the Box (has nothing to do with the whole Kate fiasco), but besides the first couple lines, you can interpret it for a whole bunch of episodes.**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: Spoilers for Pilot, The Portrait, All In, Free Fall, Bad Judgement, Vital Signs, Out of the Box, and slightly for Threads and Book of Hours.**

**Word Count: 430**

**Happy Reading!**

* * *

_"I'll be fine, they won't prosecute for the theft of an item they weren't' t supposed to have_."

Peter felt relief at those words, but he wasn't sure that was a good thing. What's wrong with being glad your best friend isn't going to jail, right? The problem was, if Neal kept doing things like this, maybe he belonged in jail. Between what he did after the Haustenberg case, (yes, Peter knows, even if Neal thinks he doesn't) the Interpol issues during the Chinatown operation, and the stunt he pulled while helping June's granddaughter, it was evident Neal liked playing outside the rules. As time passed on, Peter found himself not only accepting this without blinking an eye, but even bending the rules a bit himself.

Peter always liked rules. They were simple, usually easy to follow, and made sense. Rules limited chaos and laid out much-needed boundaries. But the more time Peter spent with Neal, the more he started to see rules that once seemed reasonable, as tedious and unnecessary to follow. The agent noticed he had begun to look for a loophole in the rule to fit his actions, rather than a different course of action to fit the rule. Peter didn't know if his law-abidingness was rubbing off on Neal, or vise versa. Maybe it was a little bit of both. He just hoped the former outweighed the latter.

When Peter sprung Neal out of prison (the first time), he had one goal: catch the Dutchmen. Then it was Ghovat, Maria Fiametta, and so on. Eventually, though, it was no longer solely about arresting a criminal. It was about providing Neal back-up if an op went south, it was about making sure he didn't do something stupid and get himself killed, or proving Adrian Tulane's guilt and clearing Neal's name. Sometimes it was even about reassuring the younger man that he could trust Peter, and that, to a point, Peter trusted Neal. To do all these things, occasionally Peter had to step a little outside the lines. But it's not like Neal never stuck his neck out for Peter, the Fowler-Judge Clark incident was a prime example of that. Neal liked to help his friends, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, June, Alex, obviously Kate.

Still, Peter couldn't help but think one day it was going to go too far. One day he's going to have to make a choice between protecting Neal, and doing the right thing.

And he's not entirely sure what he'll choose.

* * *

**Special Note: Have you heard of Script Frenzy? If not, go to scriptfrenzy dot org. It's like NaNoWriMo, but for scripting rather than novels. I'm trying it for the first time this year, and loving it, despite taking up so much time.**


	19. Sometimes

**A/N: I won't even begin to apologize for not updating in so long. Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading, those who favorited/alerted this and especially my amazing reviewers. You guys are awesome! This started off as one thing, but my fingers decided to make it something else. Nonetheless, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: Spoiler for Forging Bonds, and a little bit for Pilot.**

**Word Count: 1,078**

**Happy Reading!**

* * *

Anyone who would describe Mozzie as quick to trust, has never met Mozzie. He is the very definition of paranoia, passing it off as "being aware of his surroundings." If aliens ever start invading North America or the president suddenly decides to go rogue, then Mozzie will be the only one prepared. But for now, it's just extreme paranoia.

He still has no idea what made him, against his better judgment-no against _all_ of his judgment-track down the kid that outsmarted him at the park, but he did. Mozzie must have waited outside that door for twenty minutes, arguing with himself about whether or not to knock. The kid could be CIA for all he knew, with a super computer implanted into his brain. Or even a Mossad assassin! Okay, maybe not that last one-he clearly wasn't Israeli. But still, Mozzie had no idea who, or what he was dealing with. And yet, for reasons unknown to even himself, Mozzie knocked.

Fast forward ten minutes and he was glad he did. Neal held a level of amazing intelligence and skill that his appearance didn't quite reflect (Mozzie immediately made a note to fix the kid's wardrobe) and he was far from naïve. From the looks Neal was giving him that first day, Mozzie thought Neal was even more wary of him than the other way around-if that was at all possible.

He laid out the Vincent Adler plan and as the two began preparations, Neal became more comfortable. Despite him swearing he would never do so, so did Mozz. Soon he was practically a mentor to the younger man; correcting him on his quotes, warning him about falling for Adler's suspicious, albeit beautiful assistant. A connection-a bond one might say-was forming and Mozzie couldn't stop it if he tried. He had given up on letting people in a long time ago, but here he was, calling Neal Caffrey his friend.

Their genius plot of robbing Adler was all coming together. Mozzie could just feel that any day now, Vincent was going to fork over that password…and then, bam. Adler disappeared, money and all. The long con was a bust, they'd been played. Ordinarily, and with any other partner, in that situation Mozzie would have grabbed his things, cleared out any compromised hideouts, and vanished, just like their mark. Ordinarily, there would have been nothing holding Mozzie back, but now there was, and he couldn't just ditch Neal.

After Neal had told Kate everything (not his best move, in Mozzie's opinion) they salvaged what they could of the situation and started running street scams. A few of them were cheesy, such as the police impersonation one that involved Mozzie being de-haired over and over again, but it was just to kill time. Neal's newfound friend Alex let them in on something bigger, and Mozz approved.

For reasons beyond his understanding (he blames Neal's emotional turmoil from Kate suddenly leaving him) Mozzie was left out of the loop on the Copenhagen job which not only resulted in Neal and Alex nearly getting themselves killed, but also the end of them working together. Neal was practically hysterical by the time he found his way back to New York and to Mozzie's doorstep. He didn't ask for details.

From then on out Neal's sole purpose was getting Kate back. Mozzie must have told him a thousand times to give up the chase, Kate didn't want to be found, he was only going to get himself into trouble, but Neal refused to listen. Mozzie reconsidered the not-naïve impression. Still, Mozz felt obliged to assist in the search. No one could accuse him of not being loyal.

When "Jimmy the Snitch" amazingly had Intel on Kate's location, it was too good to be true. Literally. Mozzie tried to tell Neal that, but he was too blinded by love to see what Mozzie felt was so blatantly obvious: T-R-A-P. The Feds were on to Neal, and they were desperate to catch him before another priceless Raphael went missing. Evidently, desperate enough to use his love of Kate to make an arrest. Even Mozz thought that was cruel. Walking out that door, Mozzie was eighty-five percent sure that the next time he saw his friend would be after a nice, multiple-year stay at one of the United States' prison facilities. He was right.

If anyone thought Mozzie was going to come within a hundred yards of that J. Edgar Hoover-infested building, they're even crazier than the people who call him quick to trust, but he did write letters. Deeply encoded, of course. He knew when Neal was planning on escaping, and he knew when Neal got himself thrown back in jail with another four years tacked onto his sentence. He also knew when his friend had managed to convince Peter Burke, the FBI agent who'd wanted Neal Caffrey behind bars more than anyone, to let him out. Plus one tracking anklet. Mozzie was still unsure of the whole arrangement, it was almost…a crime to make someone as good as Neal work for the other side. Not that there was any other way. Or, at least not a way that didn't involve Neal being a fugitive on the run for the rest of his life.

So here he was; sitting in one of Manhattan's many exquisite mansions, waiting for Neal to return home from his new 9-5 job.

He knew Neal would want information on Kate, but Mozzie had none. Yet. They'd had very little contact after Neal was arrested, and then five months ago it all stopped. She went completely off the grid and Mozzie's research still turned up blank.

But Kate wasn't the reason Mozzie was where he was. In fact, she had nothing to do with it at all. Mozzie came because four years was far too long between friends. Maybe he'd never completely trust another individual, but if he did, it would be Neal.

He started their partnership on a whim, and it taught home something about paranoia. Sometimes paranoia is true, sometimes it is better to be safe than sorry. But in a rare few cases, going against your gut feeling can lead to good things. For Mozzie, the best thing he ever got: someone to care about.

* * *

**A/N #2: It occurred to me as I was writing this that Mozzie did go to the prison in both Free Fall and Withdrawal, but that was after he was a little more acquainted with the "Suits" so I feel that discrepancy is acceptable. Feel free to leave a flaming review if you disagree. I also included a slight Chuck reference in there if any of you Chuck fans spotted it. After I wrote down "CIA", I couldn't help myself.**


	20. Tear

**A/N: I swear I tried to get this up way earlier, but managed to get behind on Screnzy (aka Script Frenzy, a month long scriptwriting program, for those of you unfamiliar) and had to catch up before the first. I have testing all this week (fun, *sarcasm*) but will try my best to update again by Friday. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 776**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

Peter could feel his heart beating as he ran, pounding against his chest, in rhythm with his feet. He was out of breath, sprinting faster than his body could handle without complaint. Peter turned another sharp corner and became twice as determined when he saw his target barely ahead of him. When he was just paces from catching up, he tripped. Satchmo carried on.

"Unbelievable," Peter grumbled, standing and brushing himself off. "How many suspects have I successfully subdued after a foot chase? And when my dog takes off with your stupid fedora, I trip." Neal, just reaching Peter fast enough to hear his words and not see Satchmo disappear around the water fountain, looked up abruptly.

"Wait, you didn't get it?"

"No I didn't get it! I just said, I tripped. You owe me for helping you chase after that ridiculous hat."

"But you didn't get it!" Neal complained, clearly crushed. Peter groaned. Why had he agreed to let Neal drag him and Satchmo to the park as a break from their case? Why?

"Well you could've gotten it! Why were you so far back?"

"You were right next to Satch when he grabbed it, I wasn't even facing you guys!"

"Fine, fine. I guess you have a point. Now where'd he go? I can't imagine Elizabeth will be too happy if we go back home and tell her you lost the dog."

"_I_ lost him? You were the one who took off his leash.

"You were the one who wanted to go for a walk."

"It's your dog."

"It's your hat." Neal tilted his head, considering Peter's side of the debate.

"Okay it's both our faults. Did you see which direction Satch went?"

"Uhh…" Peter trailed off, frowning.

"You didn't see."

"I tripped!"

"Um, excuse me?" The female voice startled both Peter and Neal. They turned to see a young women with short black hair, holding Satchmo's collar. Neal's fedora was still in his mouth. "Is this your dog?"

"Yes, yes, thank you." Peter hurriedly clipped the leash back onto his collar, giving Satchmo a stern look. The women's eyes drifted to Neal, giving his typical flirtatious smile that could make every female on Earth (short of Diana, Cruz and Elizabeth) beg to marry him. She stuck the hand that had been holding Satch's collar, and shook Neal's.

"I'm, Cambridge, uh, by the way."

"Neal. And this is Peter and Satchmo." Cambridge continued to gape at Neal (Peter was pretty certain she'd be content standing there all day) and Peter cleared his throat.

"We better get going, Neal. We have work to do."

"Right. It was nice meeting you, Cambridge. Thanks again for finding Satch." She nodded shyly, and the two men started walking in the direction of Peter's home.

"I really don't understand how you do it."

"It's a talent, Peter." Neal paused, remembering something, then bent down to Satchmo's eye level. "Satchmo, give Neal his hat back please."

"He doesn't like being spoken to in third person, Neal."

"He's a dog, Peter." Said dog kept his hold on Neal's precious fedora. He could just see the doggy slobber ruining-"Fine. Satchmo, please give _me_ my hat back." Satchmo dropped the accessory at Neal's feet and started munching on a dandelion. "Dogs," Neal sighed, rolling his eyes and picking up Satch's deserted chew toy. Then panic set in.

"Peter!" Neal's voice was urgent.

"Neal." Peter's was exasperated.

"There's a tear."

"Doesn't surprise me. You do know dogs have teeth, right?" Neal couldn't form words, staring down at the once-marvelous hat in his hands. "Don't you have like six fedoras anyway? And that tear is tiny, Neal."

"Easy for you to say." They resumed walking.

Back at the Burke household Satchmo laid down under the table, passed out instantly from shear exhaustion. Peter and Neal fell on the couch, equally tired, but forced to pick up the case files to make up for lost time. The partner were silent for a while, focused on their task, but soon Peter started to grin.

"You know, Neal. If you're so heartbroken over your fedora, I could get you a baseball cap." Neal peered at him over the file. "The FBI always has a few lying around."

* * *

**A/N #2: I just cannot see Neal wearing an FBI hat. I have a feeling he'll be turning that oh-so-generous offer of Peter's down.**


	21. Unique

**A/N: Alright, you can hate me now. I have absolutely no excuse why it's been—I don't even know exactly how long since my last chapter. I'm a horrible person and don't deserve you, my awesome readers and reviewers. Nevertheless, enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even **_**compares**_** to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 321**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

He'd said it a million times before and he'd say it a million times again: Neal Caffrey was one-of-a-kind. Neal was the only person who could frustrate him so much, then have him laughing five minutes later. And even after witnessing the most courageous and selfless acts from his consultant, Peter could still be shocked.

It started off as just typical car theft investigation. Easy take down, no undercover work was even needed. Somehow this led to Peter, Neal, and the rest of their team standing outside a building rigged with explosives, and a cuffed criminal holding a detonator scheduled to go off in twenty-three seconds. Oh, one more thing: there was an innocent women inside. Neal didn't hesitate for a second before launching into a full sprint towards the building, as everyone else cleared the area. As cliché as it may sound, it was the longest twenty-three seconds of Peter's life. When Neal and the women emerged from the death trap at 0:04, just barely getting out of the blast range in time, he could've leapt for joy. He would've, too, if he hadn't been holding onto the suspect. Another close brush with death, another person rescued, another case solved. All in a day's work for Neal Caffrey.

Back at the office—after he forced Neal to get checked out at the hospital—Peter asked Neal why he did it. It _was_ the right thing to do, of course, and after working with Neal for so long Peter really shouldn't have been surprised, but risking your life like that wasn't something everyone would do, or even all agents. Even Peter wasn't sure what he would've done if his friend hadn't gone in first.

"How could I not?", was Neal's response, and Peter couldn't help but smile. Only Neal Caffrey could make something like this seem so simple. He truly was unique.

* * *

**A/N #2: If anyone is even still reading this story, a review would be great. **


	22. Victory

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who is sticking with me on this story! You guys are the best. I guess this could be considered AU, but since we haven't seen 3x1 yet, who knows? Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even **_**compares**_** to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 288**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

Adler considered today a victory. It had been the perfect trap, and everything just fell right into place.

From the first moment he saw Neal and Burke together, in the back of his limo, Vincent knew the agent would be a problem. Neal trusted the man, and wouldn't abandon the FBI lifestyle so easily. On the ride back to the U-boat location, his captives unconscious in the back seat, Adler formed a plan. Make it appear that Neal is betraying him, and Burke will flip on his consultant, in turn dissolving any level of trust between the two. He sent some of his men to do a sweep of Caffrey's apartment, and what they found was almost too good to be true.

There was a time crunch, but Adler had plenty of manpower. By the time Neal, Burke and Hunter were tied up, being "killed" (as if it was a coincidence the other agents got there just in time), Caffrey's paintings had been moved to the hideout by the docks—set to explode when Vincent needed them to—and the treasure was on its way to a warehouse just within a certain ex-con's radius.

Another flawless plan was working like magic, and there was only one remaining step: Adler would "die" and slink away to leave the cryptic note card on Neal's table. Then he could sit back and watch Caffrey's credibility crumble to pieces, his friendship with Burke soon to follow. It'd only be a matter of time before Neal was back to his old ways and Vincent could use the con for his own agenda.

Adler had never been a big fan of chess, but…checkmate.

* * *

**A/N #2: Hmm, that would sure be a twist. I, truthfully, hope Adler really is dead, but this idea piqued my interest. Sorry it's so short again!  
**


	23. Why

**A/N: *Spoilers for 3x1* Wow, talk about a distressing premiere. I think Jeff Eastin really likes to toy with us. I was up until 3AM last night/this morning writing this out after watching On Guard. It was the only way I could stop freaking out about Neal actually trying to leave with the treasure! Anyway, this scene would be if Neal and Mozzie are escaping on the plane again with the U-boat loot. Mozzie seems slightly OOC to me, but I tried, and I think Neal and Peter are okay. But I guess that's up to you guys, my lovely readers, to judge. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: MAJOR, major spoilers for Under the Radar and On Guard, some smaller spoilers for Out of the Box, and slight references to dialogue in Withdrawal and Countermeasures.**

**Word Count: 1,409**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

"Neal." He froze. What was Peter doing here? He suddenly flashed back to a scene similar to this one, just a year ago. So much had happened since then, so much had changed. Kate wasn't waiting on the plane behind him; Mozzie was, along with billions in Nazi treasure. And Adler wasn't blowing up this one. But he was still running, and Peter was still here to stop him.

"Peter. What are you doing here?" The agent's expression reflected how stupid of a question that was. "Fair enough. Why aren't you arresting me then?"

"I didn't come here to arrest you." That was clear. There was no back-up around, no Diana or Jones hiding behind the corner, even Peter's badge, gun and cuffs were absent from his belt.

Neal stole a quick glance behind him. Mozzie was probably wondering what was taking him so long.

"What _did_ you come here for?"

"I came to ask why."

"Why what?" Neal already knew the answer to that.

"Why are you doing this, Neal? Has all of this just been another part of your long con?" He wanted to say no—it was the truth, wasn't it? Not everything, not most things. But why _was _he doing this?

"I don't know, Peter."

"Yeah you do, tell me." Talk about déjà vu. From the look that crossed Peter's face Neal could tell he realized it too. Neal almost felt the need to turn around again, just to make sure the aircraft wasn't about to burst into flames.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, most likely Moz reminding him they had a schedule to keep. He gave Peter a hard look.

"No, it wasn't all just a part of the long con. I didn't plan this, you know." Neal paused. "I wasn't lying to you before, Peter. I didn't take the art."

"But you hid it. You knew where it was and you didn't say anything. And you're here now." Neal's phone vibrated again. By now Mozzie must've looked out the plane's windows and seen Peter. He was probably freaking out about it too, unaware that at this moment, the successful execution of their plan was in Neal's hands, not Peter's. He was still getting on the plane. Neal took a step back slowly, then stopped at Peter's voice.

"Just tell me why, Neal. Why are you doing this?" He might as well answer, it couldn't hurt anything.

"This—all of this—it isn't for me, Peter. This life."

"It could be. Give it a chance." Peter's eyes were pleading now, and that was even more painful than when they held betrayal and disappointment. Peter wanted Neal to stay and work for the FBI, even after everything he'd done, all the laws he'd broke, all the lies he'd told. Peter still wanted to protect him.

The idea was tempting, and Neal almost walked forward again, back towards his nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday, honest lifestyle. One he was perfectly happy with before the prospect of a multi-billion dollar treasure came into the picture. But it was too late to turn back now. And was he really happy with it? Or did he want this all along?

His cell vibrated for a third time, a rude indication that he needed to go. Neal felt like chucking it at the ground. Instead he shook his head, and replied somewhat wistfully,

"I can't."

"Yes you can! Neal…" Peter bit his tongue, appearing either unsure of how to say his next words, or whether or not to say them at all. "No one else knows we're here. Not Jones or Diana, or even Elizabeth. You can still come back." He stared at the ground, probably in a desperate yet futile attempt to keep his emotions in check. "Do the right thing." Neal wanted to do "the right thing"—he really did—but if he'd learned one thing as a conman or a consultant, it's that the right thing to do isn't always the right thing for everyone involved. As Mozzie had said, everything good must one day come to an end. When he was originally released from prison Neal never expected the work-release to last this long. It was time for him to move on. So why was that so hard to accept?

"I'm sorry, Peter." If he didn't go now, it would only get harder. He hesitantly took another step back, then another.

"Neal-"

"Peter, my mind is made up,"

"No it's not. If it was you'd be on that plane already." There was a thick silence. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe the reason this life isn't for you, is because you don't want it to be?" Of course he had, every day.

"What do you mean?"

"You always take the easy way out, the escape. Neal, you told me once that you were tired of running. Staying here might not be the easiest option but it's worth it. Trust me." There was that magic word; trust. The most difficult concept between Neal and Peter.

"I do trust you, Peter. I always have. But can you trust me?" Peter shifted on his feet, weighing words carefully.

"Trust is earned, Neal."

"I know." What was he still doing here? What did it matter if Peter trusted him or not? He was leaving with Moz to some distant tropical island and never coming back. Why did trust matter? And why was Peter taking so long to answer?

"I don't trust you." Neal sighed. He'd expected that response but it still stung. "But I will." His confusion must have been obvious because Peter went on. "Look at where we are, Neal. How could I trust you? But that doesn't mean it's out of the realm of possibility." Neal didn't know what to think. He needed a week, a month maybe, to sit and think things through. Did he really want to get on the plane? What if he left then changed his mind? It would be so much easier if both decisions weren't so permanent. If he chose to leave he could never come back, no question about it. If he chose to stay, there would never be another chance like this. Even if he wanted to by then, Neal couldn't possibly pull it off—past Peter—a third time. Why did there have to be so many if's?

"Neal. Suit." Neal turned to face his friend emerging from the Twin Otter.

"Moz…" What could he say? 'I know we've been planning this for weeks now but I'm having second thoughts'?

"No need. I know." Mozzie looked at Peter. "Suit, you're not going to arrest him…or me?" Peter shook his head no, and the short man turned to Neal again, mumbling, "I know I'm going to regret this…"

"Moz?"

"Neal, you should stay. You need to stay."

"But what about…" _Everything_, was the unspoken word. Was Mozzie really changing his mind? It was his idea in the first place! He was the reason they had the art.

"There are three routes, remember? The first two aren't for you. What I said before about happily ever afters, I was wrong." Mozzie was admitting being wrong _and _agreeing with Peter? As well as offering to give up the score of a lifetime? What had the world gone to? But who was Neal to argue. He cast one more glance behind him. The aircraft suddenly looked big and ominous, like a bad idea. Mozzie was right; the 'big score' wasn't for him. If it was, Neal wouldn't be spending so much time thinking about giving it up.

"Okay, Peter. I'll give it a shot." The magnitude of the agent's smile was something Neal had only seen so strongly on a few occasions: relief. Mozzie cleared his throat, nodding to the plane.

"Great. Now what are we going to do about, um..." Peter shrugged.

"We'll figure something out. Now why don't we go home?"

* * *

**A/N #2: Well...yes? No? Opinions are welcome!**


	24. Xom Tum

**A/N: Due to the lacking number of x-words, this wasn't the easiest to come up with, but I kind of like how it turned out. Please take note that I know absolutely nothing about Thai food and even less about xom tum (a Thai dish I found through the Internet) so if something doesn't make sense, take pity. Also, today is Tim DeKay's birthday! Happy 48th! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even **_**compares**_** to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems. I also do not own the restaurant Boyd Thai*.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 1,205**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

"Peter, come on, you _have _to try it with me!"

"It's outside your radius, isn't it?"

"No." Peter looked skeptical. "It's not, I swear!"

"Then why do I have to come? I don't even think I like Thai food." Neal couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Peter, how could you not like _all Thai food_? It's not like it all tastes the same."

"Can't you take Diana with you? She likes Thai."

"Already asked, she's meeting Christie for lunch." Peter glanced around his office inconspicuously, trying to think of something that would prevent him from going. He had some paperwork he'd been hoping to finish up at his desk during lunch, (if he used that excuse Neal would just tease him for being a workaholic) and Thai food didn't sound nearly as appetizing as the deviled ham sandwich he'd packed.

"Wait a second, you went to Diana first?"

"Because I knew you'd say no!"

"I brought a lunch."

"You've packed a lunch every day this week. It's Friday, go out for one day. It'll only take four minutes to drive there." Peter remained quiet for another moment but Neal could see that he got him.

"Fine, but you're paying." Peter smiled as his partner's face flashed from a triumphant grin to a mixed-victory scowl.

"Fair enough, I guess. Let's go, it's already 12:15.

Ten minutes later Neal and Peter were walking into a restaurant labeled _Boyd Thai_. The establishment looked spacious, clean and welcoming, and although Peter was unsure how his—as Neal called it—limited pallet would like the cuisine, he was no longer regretting his decision. A bright-faced twenty-something hostess (probably working her way through college, Peter surmised) sat them down and Peter examined the menu, relieved to see a few entrees he actually recognized.

"What's xom tum?" Peter asked Neal, pronouncing it slowly.

"Fish." Peter's eyes went back to the list of lunch specials, missing Neal's face suddenly take on a mischievous expression. "Actually, you should get that. I think you'll like it."

"Really?" There was no description of the meal, other than options of sides. But if Neal said it was good, then maybe…

"Are you two ready to order?" A waiter asked cheerfully. Peter wasn't completely sure, but the place was busy (another good sign) and he hated to waste the man's time.

"Um, I guess I'll have xom tum…" Neal told the waiter his own order, and he hurried off.

"So is the restaurant as bad as you imagined it to be?" Peter responded to Neal's obvious sarcasm with,

"Don't know, we haven't gotten our food yet. The prices aren't bad though."

"_Of course_ that's what would concern you. Live a little, Peter."

"Oh, I live plenty. I blindly ordered what you suggested, didn't I?"

"Yup." Peter didn't catch Neal's smirk as he nodded.

Their food came quicker than Peter expected and he was pleasantly greeted with a normal-looking dish. Neal's he couldn't say the same for, but his consultant took a bite and seemed pleased.

"Can I get you anything else?" Peter and Neal shook their heads in unison and the waiter disappeared again. Peter picked up his fork and noticed Neal watching him impatiently.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Peter gave him a suspicious look. Neal diverted his attention. _Whatever, _he thought. Neal was probably just still gloating. He put a forkful of food in his mouth and immediately regretted it. His mouth of instantly on fire, the 'fish' easily being the hottest thing he'd ever tasted. Peter hated spicy foods. He swallowed quickly and drained half his glass of ice water in one gulp, the rest of it in the next.

"NEAL!" Peter was certain a few heads in the restaurant turned, but right now he didn't care.

"You don't like it, I take." Neal was trying hard to bite back laughter.

"What did you make me order?"

"Make? I didn't _make _you do anything. I simply made a suggestion.

"Neal!"

"It's a spicy Thai dish." Peter narrowed his eyes.

"You know I hate spicy things."

"Really?"

"You do remember that I have the power to send you back to prison, right?" Neal lost his fight with containing his amusement now, and those same heads turned at the volume of the consultant's chuckles.

"I also know that you wouldn't do so over a practical joke," he finally managed. Peter glared more.

"I wouldn't be so cocky." Neal was right of course, but Peter wasn't going to tell him that right now.

"Okay, Peter. We can trade."

"Uh, no thanks," he said, eyeing Neal's food again. Neal ignored Peter and switched their plates anyway.

"It's not brains. I foresaw this happening, so I actually ordered something you would like. Just try it."

"I'm through with your dining recommendations." Despite his words, Peter took a bite anyway. He _was _hungry. And the food wasn't actually that bad.

"See? I told you."

"Yeah, you also told me to order the xom tum."

"You're not gonna get over that, are you?" Peter shrugged.

"Ask me tomorrow."

"I see you smiling."

"I'm just thinking of ways to get my revenge."

"_Sure_."

"I think I'll get Jones to help."

"Oh, he was in on this. We had a bet about whether or not you'd fall for it. Jones just lost twenty bucks."

"All the more reason he'll help me." Neal froze mid-chew at his partner's logic. Now it was Peter's turn to laugh.

* * *

***** **When looking for a name I just searched "Thai restaurants in Manhattan" and picked one that sounded cool. Coincidentally, I found out through MapQuest that Boyd Thai is not only close to the FBI building (Neal's four minute estimation is accurate) but also very likely within Neal's radius, like he said. **

* * *

**A/N #2:**

**Just two more left! Thanks for sticking with me! Now, the review button is waiting…**


	25. Yankees

**A/N: I decided that since I made fun of Peter last chapter, it was only fair to tease Neal some in this one. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even _compares_ to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 946**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

"A Yankee's game?"

"Neal, it's baseball. Everyone loves baseball!" It was a typical Saturday afternoon; warm, sunny and cloudless. New York City had never seen a more beautiful June day. Neal had been on his way out the door to the park (perfect weather for sketching outside) when Peter called and asked-no told him he was picking Neal up in ten minutes and to dress for the stadium.

"You just _happened_ to have an extra ticket?"

"No, Elizabeth and I were supposed to go together, but she got an emergency call from work." Neal looked at their tickets in his hand that he'd been unconsciously turning into an origami tulip. Peter followed his gaze and rolled his eyes.

"You should've at least made a glove or something."

"How long is the game?" The Taurus was stopped at a red light and Peter turned to face the passenger seat, giving Neal an incredulous look.

"Have you ever been to a baseball game before?"

"No."

"The game ends whenever the ninth inning is done." The car behind them suddenly honked loudly, making both men jump. "The light's green, Peter!"

"I see it."

"Then why didn't you go?"

"Shut up." He paused. "Never?"

"Nope. My mom wasn't really into sports, and you know about my dad."

"What about uncles? Grandparents?"

"Oh, look. We're here!" The area around Yankee Stadium was packed and Peter had to find a nearby parking garage. They showed their tickets to the entrance and wove their way through the mobs and up stairs to their bleacher section. Peter led Neal to an empty spot and they sat down just as the first pitch was thrown.

"Peter, our tickets say row fifteen, this is seventeen."

"No one really cares where you sit for bleachers. Someone's probably in our spots," he responded without taking his eyes off the field. The first two pitches were strikes but the batter managed a home run on the third. Neal winced as the fans reacted, loudly.

"Is it always this crowded?"

"Yeah, but more so today since they're playing Boston."

"Why would that matter?" Peter stared at him.

"Do you know anything about baseball?" he asked, half-smiling. Neal shrugged.

"Three strikes you're out."

"The Red Sox are the Yankees' greatest rival."

"Who's up now?"

"Away always bats first." Neal gave a look of realization.

"So that's why everyone was upset when that guy got a homerun." Peter nodded slightly, his attention already back on the players. The pitcher struck the next batter out, earning him a few claps. A tall guy-John Lackey according to the board-came up to the plate next.

Neal tried watching the plays, but he couldn't see Peter's-and evidently half of New York's- fascination with the sport. By the top of the second inning he grew bored with pretending to be absorbed in the game (Peter definitely was) and decided to practice his observational skills on the people sitting around them. When the food and drink vendors came through Peter bought a hot dog and Coke, but Neal passed. Stadium food didn't look very appealing.

In the bottom of the sixth based yet again on the giant TV sets scattered throughout, Neal had given up long ago on trying to keep up with things on his own) the score was 9-4, Yankees. Most of the crowd was obviously pleased by this fact, and Neal found him self being content just to be in the upbeat atmosphere. He still wasn't too sure about _everyone _loving baseball as Peter had said, but it seemed like a nice enough family-and-friends activity. The seats could be cleaner (Neal was grateful he'd worn one of his few pairs of jeans) but considering all things, he was actually happy he'd came.

"Hey, Neal, did you feel a rain drop?"

"What?" Something cold hit is arm and he heard Peter groan. Within seconds, the players were clearing the field and a black covering was being pulled across it. "Is that a tarp?" Peter nodded. "But it's not even-" Neal was unable to finish his sentence as it started pouring. Almost as fast as the teams had run off the field, fans began jumping from their seats and hurrying for shelter, Neal and Peter included.

After twenty minutes of waiting in hopes for the rain to stop, the game was announced postponed. On the drive back home Peter was in a less-than-chipper mood. Neal wasn't sure if it was more out of the fact that the game was rained out, or that his car seats were getting wet from their damp clothes.

"Well, at least they got through six innings," Neal said in an attempt to start up conversation.

"Yeah. This probably doesn't help your opinion of baseball, does it?"

"It wasn't so bad, I guess. I'd still rather be at a Van Gough exhibit or something of the sorts, but this wasn't the worst way to spend a Saturday." Neal almost regretting saying that when he caught sight of Peter's 'I told you so' expression.

"You know next Saturday they're play-"

"No thanks. I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yup, positive." Peter spent the remainder of the drive pondering ways to drag Neal to a basketball game.

* * *

**A/N #2: I am in no way a Yankees fan (Boston, rivalries never die) but this chapter wouldn't have worked as well if they weren't winning. Who else LOVED the episode last night?**


	26. Zero

**A/N: Last one! I want to thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, alerting and favoriting this story! It means the world to me, I love you all! This series of one-shots has been a ton of fun to write and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you think my work even **_**compares**_** to that of the amazing Jeff Eastin, you have problems.**

**Warning: None.**

**Word Count: 791**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

It wasn't a secret to Peter that many agents in the Bureau considered keeping Neal Caffrey as a consultant, a mistake. It also wasn't a secret that most agents disproved greatly of the relationship that had formed between the two of them. Peter could see their reasons, but he couldn't understand them.

Neal had mentioned several times before that a great number of the human population sees the world in black and white. When Peter asked what he meant by that, Neal explained that they don't read between the lines, they don't try to see the bigger picture. They don't dig beneath the surface. The more time he spent as Neal's partner, the more Peter realized just how right this was. Some people just need a second chance. Give them that, and they may surprise you. That wasn't the most popular mind set of their coworkers.

Lot's of people would be wary of someone like Neal if all they saw was his file and list of suspected crimes, but more so for FBI agents. From day one of training at the academy, one thing was drilled into their heads: cops are good, criminals are bad. Undeniably, Neal _was_ a criminal. Even Peter couldn't dispute that. Peter had been one of the few agents able to avoid the bureaucratic brainwashing, but most weren't so lucky. To them, Neal was just the felon stereotype. It's a thin line between stereotypes and prejudices.

If he had to ponder their thinking, there were many reasons why Peter shouldn't get so close to Neal.

The easiest and most obvious answer was the fact that for at least three years—and who knows how long before that—Neal stole from people for a living. That was the first thing that every young Probie thought of when discovering that they would be working alongside Neal Caffrey, a thief. What Peter thought of was how so many of his crimes could have been faster, less risky and more profitable if he'd brought a weapon with him and used it. He didn't. Neal stole from people but he would never hurt an innocent. He avoided guns like the plague and despised violence more than anyone Peter had ever met before. As long as Neal was really trying to move past that lifestyle, then it didn't bother Peter.

The next reason was one that Peter had thought about more than anything else involving his consultant: Neal lied to people. It was a necessity as a conman, and Neal had used his skills to his full advantage. He invented personas and led people to believe things that weren't true so he could manipulate them for his own benefit. But then again, wasn't undercover work the same thing? Getting people to do what you want, whether it's give information or evidence, or anything else to lead to an arrest? Lying to maintain a cover was different than lying for a con, but only in the person's motive. His ability to trick people into trusting untrue facts was one of the many reasons Neal was so good at his job at the FBI. He was using his techniques for good. As long as Neal stuck to that, Peter could live with it.

The final item was trust. More times than he cared to count, Peter had heard the words, "How can you trust a criminal?", or, "Are you sure he can be trusted?", or, "Caffrey can't be trusted." Peter considered trust too vague of a word. People could be trusted for different things, and to different extents. If he had to put it simply, Peter _did_ trust Neal. But trust wasn't simple. There wasn't a doubt in the agent's mind that Neal would give up his own life before he let Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, June—or anyone in his life he cared about—get hurt. Peter would trust him with his life in the blink of an eye, and several times, he had. Stemming from his hatred of violence, Neal would give up anything to protect the greater good. And wasn't that exactly what the FBI was for? It was the only aspect of trust Peter cared about. The rest would take care of itself over time.

Peter could go on forever listing the reasons he shouldn't be friends with Neal, reasons why an ex-con shouldn't work in the FBI. There were dozens. But zero mattered. Zero of them would make a difference. Because in the end, Neal would strive to do what's right. It was who he was, and who Peter was helping him be. Nothing is ever truly in black and white.

* * *

**A/N #2: THE END! This collection is finally complete! Until next time, my friends.  
**


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